


Where have all the good men gone?

by orphan_account



Series: That summer seemed to last forever [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2013-04-26
Packaged: 2017-12-09 14:06:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From now on, any and all ads placed on Craigslist would include the disclaimer, "No Supernatural Beings Need Apply."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where have all the good men gone?

**Author's Note:**

> The title for this part comes from Bonnie Tyler's _I Need a Hero_. Yes, I went there.
> 
> Don't shoot for the cliff-hanger! The next part for this is done, and it should be reposted to Ao3 within the next few days.

From now on, any and all ads placed on Craigslist would include the disclaimer “No Supernatural Beings Need Apply.” If Stiles had known that looking for a guy to set Danny up with on a blind date would result in the guy being kidnapped to become a vampire’s next meal, he would never have done it.  
  
It had seemed like a decent enough idea at the time. He had placed the ad looking for a junior or senior in high school living within a twenty mile radius of Beacon Hills with at least a 3.5 GPA, a passing interest in sports, and enough tech-savvy to hold a short discussion with a genius-level hacker. When he sent the first email, Brad Sanger had looked awesome on paper. Or, you know, on Gmail. He was a straight A student, he played soccer and actually knew what lacrosse was, and he had talked around the fact that he had a few priors for illicit activities on a handful of fairly secure databases.  
  
Stiles had spent the next few days emailing back and forth with Brad, and decided that he might not be the perfect guy for Danny, but they would at least get along well with each other. From what he could tell, Brad had a dry sense of humor that would go well with Danny’s own, and he sounded incredibly mature for a seventeen-year-old.  
  
Turned out he sounded so mature because he’d been around the block a few times. And by that, Stiles meant that rather than being a child of the ‘90s, Brad Sanger was born some time in the Great Depression. Unfortunately, Stiles did not find this out until after waiting for hours to hear that the date had gone well. No teenager with semi-competent parents could get away with staying out on a date all night long, so when the time on his phone hit the 2:00 a.m. mark, Stiles knew that something was up.  
  
Since nine times out of ten, the problems in Beacon Hills were supernatural in origin, Stiles had called Dr. Deaton. He felt a little guilty for rousing the vet at such a late - or was it early? - hour, but Danny’s life was more important than Dr. Deaton’s sleep schedule. The good veterinarian had been as alarmed as he ever was in the face of whatever disaster came their way, telling Stiles all about the gritty little details Brad neglected to share in their emails.  
  
Maybe Stiles should use his dad’s information and do background checks on people in the future, as well. Or maybe the internet was a bad place for making love matches in the first place.  
  
Whatever the case, there were more important things to focus on at the moment, such as getting all tasty humans away from Beacon Hills’ vampire visitor post haste. He placed his hand on the locking mechanism of the door which Danny’s GPS tracker declared was the right one. Closing his eyes, he reached for that spark which he could feel like a gentle flame in his chest, calling on it to unlock the door. Using his magic on electronic devices tended to have mixed results, but this time, at least, Stiles managed to make it work. He grinned at the soft beep that signaled his access had been granted and then he opened the door.  
  
His eyes went straight to the figure tied up and gagged on the queen-sized bed, and he strode over to him swiftly, taking out the pocket knife his dad had given him for his thirteenth birthday. “Hey, Danny. It’s me - Stiles. I’m gonna get you out of here, okay?”  
  
A muffled noise of assent greeted his ears, and Stiles peered at his charge carefully, searching for the best place to start. There was a ziptye around Danny’s ankles, and judging from the way his hands were trapped behind his back, there was one encircling those as well. There was a wad of cloth in his mouth, and Stiles decided to start there. He pulled it out and put it in the bag he had slung over one shoulder, in case he needed to give it to one of the local werewolves for tracking purposes later.  
  
“Thanks.” Danny’s voice sounded thick, as though it had been too long since he’d last had fluids, but it was also surprisingly level. If Stiles were in his position, he would be so far beyond panic right now. Then again, Danny may not know exactly what Brad wanted from him. But still. Getting kidnapped was no joke.  
  
Stiles replied as he worked to cut the plastic around Danny’s ankles, keeping his own voice light. “Well I figure it’s the least I could do. I mean, this is kinda my fault.”  
  
“Kind of?” Danny asked, dry as a college dictionary.  
  
Making a face, Stiles moved to help Danny upright, climbing up behind him on the bed in order to get at the second ziptye. “Yeah, okay, this is completely my fault,” he admitted, trying to keep his brain from falling dangerously far into the gutter. This was no time to be thinking of all he could do with a beautiful person all vulnerable and dependent. Nope. Danny was his sort-of friend who needed Stiles to get him away from an evil bloodsucking fiend from beyond the grave, and that was it.  
  
He let out a soft, “Ahah!” when the plastic broke, and then he got up to help Danny rise from the bed. “You okay to walk out of here?”  
  
The darkness of the motel room hid most of Danny’s face, but Stiles could tell that he was giving him a distinctly unimpressed look. They guy just gave off this _vibe_ whenever he disapproved. “I think I’ll manage.”  
  
“Right, yeah, of course. Okay, then. Let’s get you outta here before Mr. McCreeper gets back.”  
  
The hair on the back of his neck stood up, meaning that he almost expected the slimy announcement of, “Too late.”


End file.
